


Yuletide, Part I

by FrangipaniFlower



Series: Time and Tide [4]
Category: Homeland
Genre: Advent Calendar 2017, F/M, i have no other excuse than Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 12:53:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12984486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/pseuds/FrangipaniFlower
Summary: It was the night before Christmas...





	Yuletide, Part I

**Author's Note:**

> A special night and a little magic healing touch :-)

She never tells him anything these days and yet he knows she‘s not well. Wonders why she isn’t opening up, at least a little bit, and lets him - _what? Help?_

She works too much, Quinn often spends an hour or two now with Franny when the nanny finishes her day and Carrie isn’t home yet.

He doesn’t mind. It’s not that he’s needed somewhere else.

Carrie is not sleeping a lot. Quinn often hears her walking around at night. The nights he‘s not with her. 

There is no pattern. But three days ago, he stayed upstairs, and last night as well.

And tomorrow it’s Christmas. Carrie and Franny won’t go anywhere. Because where should they go?

It makes Carrie sad. And it makes her realize how far away they are from  
_normality_. It’s like they are an island. No one else except them. Sometimes the loneliness feels like it’s eating up all the energy she has left. She never had _many_ friends. But at least Maggie was there. And back then she never cared so much about being lonely.

When she thinks about it it feels more like they are two islands. She and Franny. And then there‘s Quinn. Sometimes they connect. And then he‘s gone again. 

Of course he is still there then. He didn’t disappear again, he‘s even more often upstairs when she comes home. But she never knows if he’s really _there_ or if his mind is wandering.

There have been several days when she thought they made a breakthrough. But then they didn’t. 

She didn’t expect an _I love you_ in return three days ago. She really did not. And yet it hurts that he’s not giving her _something_. 

And yet she knows he‘s fighting so hard to find his way through his endless struggles. And so often she feels so ridiculously proud of him. Of course she’ll never tell him but she found the shoelaces in his drawer and saw he used them to practice making knots and bows. And when she went through his mail she saw the invoices for his insurance for PT and OT lessons, indicating he finally chose to start the outpatient program.

She feels bad for going through his mail. But she desperately wants to know how he really is doing these days, and so she couldn’t resist.

And then there’s that ball she found in her living room. Small, flexible, bright red. She thought it’s Franny‘s but her sweet child told her lightheartedly that it’s Peter‘s and that he uses it for his hand exercises.

„Left or right?“

„The bad hand. That’s why it needs exercise.“

She deliberately leaves it on the coffee table and the next day it’s gone. 

She still hasn’t figured out how to deal with Christmas. If she should make it kind of official and ask him to join them for that day or if it would be insulting because he _lives_ with them and should be there just naturally.

She doesn’t even know if she should get him a present. She wants to. And she wants to give him something else too. But if he doesn’t have presents for her and Franny he‘ll feel embarrassed, which is the last thing she wants.

So she buys it, wraps both things, and hopes she is doing the right thing.

It’s Franny who saves her, two days before Christmas, while they are having dinner.

„What would you like to eat for Christmas?“

„M-me?“

Quinn‘s eye briefly fly to Carrie and when she meets his gaze he looks away.

„Mommy said, a turkey is too big. But if you and I are both really hungry, maybe we can make one?“

It’s that brief moment when he looked at her and then turned away, the glimpse of what she thinks was hope in his eyes, that makes her jump the conversation, aiming for a light tone.

„I never made one myself, Franny, but maybe we order one at Whole Foods? They have them pre-cooked and ready.“

„Y-you m-managed things m-more difficult,“ Quinn mutters, „c-can’t be that hard. B-bird, o-oven, time.“

And he smiles. A rare and real smile, reaching his eyes. Just briefly, but real.

And Carrie remembers how he told her that Franny - _this child_ \- was a gift and how right he‘d been.

And she can’t remember when she’s ever felt so enthusiastic about cooking like she suddenly does now.

———————-

It’s Christmas Eve, and Franny is too excited to sleep.

Quinn‘s been out and about all day, Carrie hasn’t seen him since he sneaked out of her room before dawn.

These days, it’s always two steps forward, one backward - or sometimes even two or three back.

She _knows_ it’s not his choice, that he probably would trade everything he owns to get his old self back. She feels bad about being impatient and for feeling insecure. She _knows_ she of all people can’t expect anything from him.

It’s been a tough day. Seeing Sekou in prison. Another fight with Reda. Saul on her heels. Lunch with Elizabeth.

But she manages to be home early enough to decorate the tree with Franny.

_Small victories._

Quinn is back when Franny finally is getting ready for bed, suddenly Carrie hears his voice from her daughter‘s room.

Despite all his clumsiness he somehow still manages to sneak in and out without making any sound. It should probably scare her but it doesn’t. Quite the opposite - it’s always a pang of joy when she realizes he‘s there, in her house, with her daughter.

Carrie knows she probably shouldn’t but she can’t resist. And so she tiptoes to Franny’s door and sits down, her back against the wall, listening to the two voices behind the door ajar.

Franny‘s begging for a story, and of course Quinn gives in. Carrie wonders if he ever realized that his speech is fluent when he is telling these stories. She assumes they are stories from his childhood, stored in an non-injured part of his brain. 

_What else might be there?_

But now she pulls up her knees, rests her head on them, arms around her legs and listens to his voice, and Franny‘s singsong voice interrupting him every now and then.

„What’s tonight‘s story?“

„A-ab-about a child.“

„Not the nativity story. We did that at school.“

„N-no. A s-story about f-fairies.“

Carrie hears Franny giggling and the sheets rustling and she knows her little girl is settling in bed now and then she‘ll be looking at Quinn expectantly.

„The old folk, the fairies and elves, they come to earth once a year. The night before Christmas. They look for children who are unhappy and need help.“

„So not me.“

Carrie‘s heart jumps.

And then she listens to a story about a fairy child, being given to humans as a changeling when the fairies took their baby away in a cold winter night. They weren’t good people and the baby was weak, so the fairies took the wee little one and raised him and took great care of him. And their own fairy baby, much stronger, gifted with the magic spells of the kingdom of the forests, grew up with the evil parents, always knowing that one day he‘d be old enough and strong enough to return to his people. He lived through many adventures - and the return of the stutter tells Carrie where Quinn‘s inventing new parts to the story for the sole purpose of Franny‘s entertainment. She’s enchanted how Quinn manages to tell a sad story as a quest of a fairy prince, and she‘s pretty sure he picks a little here and there from Peter Pan, especially when the fairy boy returns to his home, she thinks it’s Neverland, but Franny giggles with delight and Carrie finds herself longing to listen to Quinn’s voice behind the door just a little longer.

„You only told me about the fairy prince“, Franny complains sleepily when Quinn finally finishes, „what happened with the other baby?“

„He‘s f-fine.“

„Did they meet when- oh, the fairy prince has no name. Why doesn’t he have a name?“

Carrie is holding her breath, silently saluting her daughter’s sharp mind and curiosity.

„I d-don’t know. What do you think his name was?“

„I think it’s Peter“, Franny yawns and Carrie hears her rolling over on her side - she always sleeps on her left side - and knows her eyes are closed now and she‘ll be asleep in seconds.

She knows she has to get up now and rush back to the living room so Quinn doesn’t find her sitting in the dark hallway, listening to him and Franny, but suddenly she feels so exhausted that she can’t. So she sits there on the floor, her head still on her knees when he comes out of the room after switching off the lights and saying good night to her little girl.

Seeing Carrie in the dark, curled up on the floor, makes his heart race in a moment of panic. But then she moves and raises her head and he knows she’s fine, he just needs to calm down and stop panicking.

So he leans against the wall and slides down to sit next to her, as always on her left side, so he can use his good arm to wrap it around her shoulder.

It’s good to feel her leaning into his embrace without a moment of hesitation.

„It’s been a rough day“, she whispers, her arm coming to rest on his abdomen, and it feels good to hold her so close.

„W-wanna t-tell?“

He never asked before, just assumed she wouldn’t want that. That her life happens out there and he is a shadow creeping in her basement.

But now she talks, tells him what she thinks, what happened today and during the week and he tries to focus, and not to allow his mind to wander.

„Y-you put that all up s-somewhere? On a w-wall?“

„I did“, and he hears the small smile in her voice, „upstairs. You‘d like to have a look at it? Maybe you‘ll see something I missed.“

His leg cramps when he gets up but he tries not to let her notice, relieved when she ascends the stairs in front of him, not seeing how he’s holding on to the handrail to pull himself upstairs, step by step.

It’s an impressive collection she put up there, but what was he thinking.

_It’s Carrie, after all._

She’s waiting, looking at him while he slowly goes through the pieces of evidence she collected - newspaper clippings, printouts, photos, her own notes. It’s easy for him to navigate through it, and the irony of it is not lost on him, because this is Carrie‘s brain‘s work and in a way he knows that better than his own these days.

Carrie leans against her desk and watches him, she doesn’t mind it takes long, it’s just too good to see him like this once more. Focussed, processing and evaluating intel. It takes her a long time to realize he looks different. Not just because he is concentrating and reading, moving back and forth between her boards, taking a note every now and then and putting it elsewhere. 

But because his hair is freshly cut and he‘s wearing jeans and a thick navy sweater.

She sees his left hand twitching in a spasm, his lips pursing for a moment to hide the pain. He‘ll hate it if she‘d comment on it and so she doesn’t, taking her eyes off his hand and back to study his profile.

„This doesn‘t f-fit“, he finally mutters, „either you’re m-missing s-something or there‘s a p-player you d-don’t k-know yet.“

„Who?“

„Dunno. High up. S-someone‘s providing covers here“, he tips on her wallboard, „there’s a r-reason S-sek-, that boy got arrested and charged. S-stupid guy, yes, b-but there was more to it. If he g-gets f-free päput him under twentyf-four seven s-sur-, observation. T-they’ll t-try to get af-after him. S-soon. That’s your key.“

„I don’t have the means to- ah, I see“, and knowing that he would consider that makes her so fucking happy, it’s almost ridiculous.

„N-nobody s-suspects the homeless v-veteran to be a s-spy, right?“, he asks with only a hint of bitterness in his voice.

„Too bad you cut your hair“, Carrie smiles, unsure how he‘ll react to her comment.

„I still h-have the s-sweatpants.“

She loves him for keeping the tone light, a layer of humour she hadn’t known from his former self shining through the now familiar self-depreciation.

„Nothing will happen before the twentyseventh. That’s when his next hearing is.“

„I-I‘ll b-be there. W-watch t-the audience and bystanders.“

Carrie knows he‘s right. Unless the judge himself is compromised there must be someone watching and reporting back. Could be anyone though.

„That’s two more days.“

„You c-can‘t do anything t-til then. I think it’s Christmas first. For Franny.“

Carrie steps closer, standing in front of him now, and looks up to him, thinking she‘d like a kiss now but he steps back, just one step but out of her reach.

He fumbles with his hand in his pocket, and his face shows how much that annoys him because it takes too long, but when he finally retrieves his hand from his pocket he’s holding a small parcel, wrapped in red paper.

„I- n-not when F-Franny“, his stutter is always worse when he‘s nervous and Carrie realizes that it makes her nervous too, „m-merry Christmas.“

He hands her the small square and when Carrie unwraps it, she finds a small jewelry box, holding a necklace with a pendant made from a gemstone shimmering in different shades of dark green and blue with a few embedded golden spots.

Quinn’s eyes rest on her face, and seeing her eyes when she looks back to him, the small box in her hands, is the best moment in a very long time.

He feels an urge to explain himself but has to deal with the lump in his throat first so he steps behind her and collects her hair in a ponytail so she can put it on.

Placing her palm on the cool stone against her skin, she looks at him, feeling too much to phrase anything, being relieved when he bends down to kiss her, releasing her from the need to say something.

_Malachite. Stone of love and strength._

„When did you get that?“, Carrie finally asks, her lips still almost touching his.

„A while ago. W-when I w-was away and n-needed b-break.“

It takes Carrie a moment to stomach that. That he never gave up on her. Even then. That despite all he still kept that flame alive. Never stopped hoping. Never stopped loving her.

His hand is resting at the nape of her neck and he sees all these thoughts she is having flying over her face, her expression changing from fear to surprise to amazement and then settling for a silent smile - and for once he is feeling confident in what he is for her.

„Can we go downstairs?“, she finally asks, „I have a Christmas present for you as well.“

She takes the stairs faster than he does which usually would annoy him, because this is what it will always be like now. But tonight he doesn’t mind, she‘ll wait for him in her bedroom and that thought counters against all inconvenience and pain his leg is causing when he slowly heaves himself down the stairs.

She’s in her room, sitting on her bed, holding a small parcel.

„There’s another one which you can unwrap with Franny but this one‘s - I wanted - well, look for yourself,“ she stutters, still convinced she‘s doing the right thing and yet suddenly afraid of his reaction.

Quinn sits down next to her and she‘s holding the neatly wrapped box with the red ribbon for him. She hasn’t used any tape so he just has to open the ribbon allowing the paper to come off easily.

His eyes fly to her face when the box snaps open and reveals its content: a vintage chronograph, clearly used but in good condition.

„It was my father’s,“ Carrie explains, her voice suddenly thick with emotion, „it’s the series which was worn on the moon. He got obsessed with that story when he was a student, and started saving and when he was 28, he had put enough aside to buy one for himself.“

„H-how m-many y-years until then?“

„I think, seven or eight years. He- well, he wore it often. He always said, it reminded him of what he can achieve with determination and stamina.“

It’s still Carrie who is holding the box and so Quinn can let his finger run over the curve of the glass, overwhelmed by her gift and what it means.

„And n-now you, you w-want me to have it?“

„Yes, that’s what I want,“ Carrie answers quietly, finally looking at him with so much vulnerability in her eyes that it feels like a stab in his guts.

„I wish I had k-known him.“

„You two would have gotten along great,“ Carrie smiles, and he knows she remembers the night of her father’s funeral, of course she does. The memory is silently hanging between them for a long moment before Carrie finally looks away.

She helps him to fasten the steel fold-over clasp around his wrist, the right arm now, but he‘ll get used to it.

The metal feels cool on his skin and when she’s done he turns his wrist, her hand still resting on his arm, and they both look down on the vintage timepiece, pre-loved by its former owner, representing so much more than just a being a masterpiece of engineering to keep track of the time passing, each moment lost forever.

„I g-guess you w-wouldn’t wanna let the w-watch out of s-sight,“ Quinn finally asks, glad that he finds the words.

„Right. I‘d be pretty fucking sad to lose it,“ Carrie smiles, her eyes moist from tears welling up.

„D-don’t w-worry,“ he whispers with a slight tremor in his voice after pulling her to sit on his lap, his arm wrapped around her back, „don’t think that. Cause it’s not g-gonna happen.“

His hand comes up and he briefly touches the pendant, and when he cups her cheek Carrie finds herself holding her breath. Forcing herself to breathe she leans into his touch, his fingers at the back of her nape now as he finally closes the distance to kiss her.

They undress, slowly and unhurried, and for once Carrie doesn’t feel impatient about it but enjoys the anticipation, Quinn’s admiring gaze when she opens and lowers her bra, his hand discovering her body anew, his skin under her own hands.

Quinn is sitting on the edge of the bed with Carrie standing in front of him, stepping out of her underwear and naked now, his eyes following her movements, his arm reaching out for her to pull her closer.

When she’s standing between his knees, he places a reverend kiss on her tummy.

He begins kissing slowly and biting gently, savoring her smell and every inch of her skin, needing her to enjoy this and to surrender to his touch. He makes his way over her belly and grazes his lips over her navel, feeling her tummy rise and fall as her breathing becomes more enthusiastic. Leaning in further, he kisses the delicate inside of her right thigh, then suckles the inside of her left. He revels in her scent and thinks of what‘s to come, his hand firmly cupping her ass, pulling her closer to his face, burying his mouth in her folds. He can feel her wetness on his lips and dances his tongue around and around, responding to her gasps and moans, enjoying this as much as she does. Carrie follows his lead, grinding herself against his mouth, using him to bring her closer and closer, letting her desire for him take away every other thought.

He flicks his tongue across her clit, just once, and feels her knees buckling but he holds her, doesn’t allow her to sink down on him, and inserts two long fingers into her slick entrance. Her breathing is a crescendo of moans and _these_ sounds, he hears her gasp quicker and faster as her walls close tight around his fingers until finally she releases with a soft scream, leaving his mouth and hand wet and trembling.

Quinn pulls her closer, kisses her tummy once more, and guides her to lie with him on her bed.

Carrie lies sprawled, unable to open her eyes, but with a contented smile on her lips as the waves of her body's aftershock ripple through her, Quinn‘s hand gently covering and caressing her breast.

She reaches out for a large pillow with her eyes still closed and moves it over his body and behind his back, gently indicating him to lie on his side with her hip pressed against him.

He wants to feel embarrassed but she opens her eyes and looks straight into his eyes, silently conveying so much of what she never told him. And so he lets her rise onto her knees, helping him to adjust his body to lie on the paralysed side, propped against that pillow. 

She‘s lying in his arm again, facing him, kissing him, whispering that she wants him against his lips before she kisses him again, deep and open-mouthed.

Her hand caresses his body as she keeps that kiss going forever, rebuilding his desire for her, her fingers trailing down his shoulder, ribcage, squeezing his ass, her hips inching forward to close the small distance between them, slowly rocking her body against his, making the brief moment of embarrassment a fleeting thought of the past.

Her leg comes up and locks around his hips when he enters her, opening her body for him and allowing him to thrust into her deep despite his limited abilities to move, her hand firmly pressed on his ass, the tips of her fingers making him tremble when she slowly nudges between his buttocks and grazes over the sensitive spot she finds there.

And he knows she’s been right, he needs more of her than pushing her down in his lap while she is riding his cock, he wants to hold her and have her and indulge in being with her with every cell of his body, he wants to make it last and extend the pleasure he‘s feeling, he wants to feel her skin under his hand and to feel her breathing against his lips, hitching when he hits a sweet spot for her.

Carrie loves to feel and see him unravel, she feels how he finally lets go and surrenders, doesn’t care for once what he can and cannot do, but indulges in what they _are_.

He‘s deep inside her, they move slowly, each stroke causing a wave of pleasure rushing through her body, his quiet moans gradually getting louder, fueling her desire for him and for more.

Quinn groans with abandon and rocks his hips in countermotion to her when Carrie moves her fingers a little deeper, gently grazing over a particularly sensitive spot, sending him into a frenzy, his vision fading to grey and black, his sole reality the woman in his arms and the pleasure she is giving him.

She does it again and he is gone. He comes, and time draws out, feeling the pleasure expanding, filling her while his orgasm takes him from the base of his spine, making him gasp into her mouth and long to have more of her and then more.

He feels Carrie tightening around him just when he comes out of it, thrusts into her with all the remaining strength he has, releasing another wave for himself when Carrie whimpers his name and digs her hand into his buttock, wanting him closer while she comes.

Afterwards, they lie in silence, their bodies entwined, Carrie‘s mouth on his shoulder, his lips bestowing a tender kiss on her forehead, their breathing slowing down in synch.

Carrie speaks first, still pressed against his body, too exhausted to move an inch.

„Merry Christmas, Quinn,“ pleased when he huffs a laugh and she feels his chest vibrating against her breast.

She wishes she could fall asleep just like that, naked and curled around him, his arm heavy on her ribcage being a welcome and warm anchor.

But there are meds to be taken, and getting dressed before Franny storms in in just a few hours seems like a good idea too. 

So she reluctantly rises, slips into a shirt and panties, collects his pills from downstairs, and helps him to get ready for the night, thinking that for once Quinn seems to be okay with that dynamic - she‘s fucking tired too, so what the hell.

Quinn lies flat on his back when she climbs into the bed again and slips under the large duvet cover, feeling the warmth radiating from his body, making her gravitate into his side, as close as she can.

He knows he‘ll be out like a light within minutes so he pulls her into his arm one last time for the night.

„You know it never changed, right?“, he mutters against her temple, his voice already sleepy.

„I was hoping, I guess.“

He knows he should say it now and he would but Carrie doesn’t let him, closes his mouth with a kiss, and so it’s a while later when he finally whispers _Love you_ and feels Carrie’s sigh and then her mouth on his again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sydney who came up with the brilliant idea what to give Quinn for Christmas. More coming soon.
> 
> Furthermore, she once again speed-beta-ed my little fic - and is a great friend!
> 
> Merry Christmas to you all! You all make me so happy with writing, reading and commenting for the advent calendar.


End file.
